The Last One
by Eaglefire
Summary: All Quiet on the Western Front: Tjaden after the war. Oneshot.


Tjaden after the war; oneshot, school project.

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_**The Last One**_

It doesn't seem fair, that I'm the last one.

All dead. Müeller, the pragmatic one. Leer, the mathematician. Kat, the survivor and father. Paul the thinker. I think he understood better than any of us what this war was. He could have found the words to explain it to the world, I am certain. He might have been able to find a way to live again, out of all of our damned generation.

Instead, here I am, the last one. Alive and breathing. In England, stuck in Badsey Manor House, a prison camp. Tjaden the buffoon survived.

What contribution could _I_, of all of us, make to the world now? I remember that night that Mueller asked us all what we'd do after the war was over…. I wanted to pay back Himmelstoss for all he had done to me in training camp.

It's thanks to him that I'm alive, actually. Somehow, I got stuck with him when the enemy finally broke through our ranks. He speaks French; he was able to get those bastards to take us prisoner and not shoot. He was able to arrange for me to go to a hospital; I might have died from my wound if he had not. It was bad enough as it was, me slipping in and out of delirium until I woke here, in April 1919.

So now I owe him, if I ever see him again. Chance has a goddamn bad sense of humor.

Badsey Manor House was a boys' home before the war; now a family and a group of soldiers under Litenant Stubbs stay here with us. There are a little over 400 of us; most have been here for about a year. Mr. And Mrs. Sparrow are good people; they keep us well-fed. Better fed than we ever were when we served in the trenches. They have two boys, and a little girl. I've seen her out in the gardens sometimes from my view at the window, with her neat little gown and blond head of hair. She does not see us as enemies; I've seen her give bouquets of flowers to some of the prisoners as they head off to work. Elise, I think her name is. Elise Sparrow. She is tiny enough, delicate enough, to be a bird.

I am strong enough to work down in the market gardens now, but Mrs. Sparrow tells me to wait a little longer.

"We don't want you catching cold," she told me with a twinkle in her eyes. "That was a nasty wound, young man." She is a plump, cheerful woman, always calling us "dear" or "honey," as though we are all wayward sons of hers in need of a kind hand.

I feel odd, hearing those terms of endearment from her. She's English, for one thing. And another, I am not used to feeling so young. Any soldier feels a century older than he is; the dark sights we have witnessed bear down on us even more now, I believe, than before, if it is possible. For now we see again what we have missed in these years of gas, bombs, and death.

One day, Elise visits. Usually, the door to our dorm is locked because the lientenant does not want to tempt us; apparently, three men escaped last year. Why bother? Where would we go? We are well-treated here, and surrounded by water. Whoever hatched that plan must have been crazy.

But it is a gorgeous day in May, and Stubbs is no match for Mrs. Sparrow.

"These men will have fresh air, sir," she told him severely, and that was the end of it. Whoever might have the stripes, it is clear who runs this house. It is about midday, once the invalids are out in the garden and the rest of the men are at work. I am too tired to move. Still, Mrs. Sparrow forgot to open the curtains next to my bedside, and I would like to feel the sun on my face…. It was often hot and sunny on the front, but it was tainted with the stench of rats and ripe insides. The air was sickly sweet with sweat and blood, not laced with the gentle scents of flowers.

It is then that Elise peeks in, her short blond hair catching the light as she peers around the corner of the door. I smile, and she giggles.

"Hello," I say. I have picked up a little English during my stay. She waves shyly, then glances around.

"Is Mummy here?" she asks. I have to think for a moment before answering.

"No. But she comes… later. Most of the time. If you want to wait here. She should be here soon."

"Alright." With one last look over her shoulder, she dashes in, skirts swishing haphazardly as she leaps up onto the bed next to mine. I hide a smile. She looks at me, then down at the flowers in her fist. She pulls one out: a white one. Then she holds it out for me to take, her brown eyes intent. I hesitate. "I can get lots," she tells me proudly, sliding off of the bed to drop it in my hand. It is very small in my palm; it looked larger in her fists. She opens the curtains; I flinch as the light streams from the window into my face, blinding me. I blink.

"Thank you," I tell her as I hold it up, spinning the stalk in my fingertips. Nodding, Elise sits next to me and begins to study her own flowers. She picks off a white petal and holds it up to the light.

"It's funny," she says, lips pursed as she studies it. "The light goes right through it." I cannot think of a reply to that. "Do you miss your home?" I'm not sure I can reply to that either; my mind whirls at the speedy change of topics. Using English words takes another moment.

"A little. But many of them-" I stop; can I say that the ones who matter are dead? No, not to this little girl. Instead of saying anything, I watch her as she swings her legs back and forth.

"Were you scared?" I frown; what kind of question is that?

"When?" She shrugs.

"Anytime." Fat load of- I suck in a breath. "I get scared a lot. Dreams 'n stuff." She pauses, scowling in thought. "Once Mr. Jim from the market yelled at me for touching his fruit." She put her hands on her hips, full of indignation. "And he chased me and Evie all the way home."

"Evie?"

"My friend." She beams. "Evie wanted to come and visit, but her mum yelled last time she talked with you soldiers."

"Isn't your… mum… going to be mad?" I ask cautiously. She snorts.

"Nah. She knows you aren't bad." I stare down at her.

"Germans are the enemy, aren't they?" War over or not, there will be bad blood between our nations for a long time. Her small brow furrows.

"Well, I figure you have kids like me in Germany." For a moment, my mind looks back to those quiet days in our hometown, playing tag and making up silly games. For a moment, it makes my heart ache. Can I return? Do I dare?

"That we do," I whisper. Or has everything been consumed by the war?

Nonsense. Life goes on, despite the generation lost to the world. Children will grow up and forget the alumni of their schools who graduated into the army and then to their final lesson, death. Parents will dwell more on the past perhaps, but soon enough they will be swept up by the bustling years and forget those sons they threatened and encouraged to the army trains. The reality was not as pretty as they made it out to be. No glory but what prayers and honors people grant the thousands of nameless dead. Everyone says it was a shame to waste such life, now that the final tallies are being drawn up.

What do they know? Really, can they understand this "shame" that led to Kemmerich's hospital bed? The "pity" it was that Haie, Paul, Kat, and millions others had to die for warmongering rulers?

Elise nods decisively.

"So how are they my enemy, anyway?" she demands. "I dunno how that makes sense. And if they aren't, then how come you are?" I pause; something in my throat catches. She looks up, her eyes ordering me to answer.

"It doesn't make sense," I mutter in agreement, looking out the window. She grabs my hand.

"C'mon!" Where are we supposed to go? Out? "What are you gonna do, anyway? Stay in here forever?"

That doesn't sound too bad….

Still, I let her pull me across the room. It takes time; my chest aches.

When I step outside, my eyes burn; I shudder. The light is so harsh. Elise runs ahead, waving to other men sitting about. They are dark shapes in the bright yard, but I see their eyes soften as the little girl dashes past.

"C'mon!" I find myself yearning to run after her, chase after Elise and everything else that reminds me of the days before the war… to run away from other memories until they are as dim and silent as those of my childhood. Just as meaningless.

Can the screaming ever leave me at peace? Can the blood and pain ever depart? I grimace as I walk. One step, then another… Elise twirls around in the sunlight, her palms facing the sky. She looks like a bird; I would not be surprised if she suddenly began to fly.

She floats back over to me, grabbing my hands as she begins to spin. Smiling, I turn with her, faster and faster until she can barely keep her feet on the ground. She laughs hysterically, a sharp, sweet sound that raises my spirits.

What is the difference, between here and there? I could list them forever….

But I suppose that it would not help me to compare hell and heaven…. For there is no comparison. Why let the memories restrain me now, when I am alive and freer than I had ever hoped to be through those years?

I raise my face to the sun, and allow the darkness to dissolve in it. I have reached peace. What should keep me from it now?

Tjaden


End file.
